Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Quinlan, Where Are You?
Now that our grandson has decided to roll around inside his mama a tad bit longer than predicted, I have discovered several things.
1) No one in my family is patient. But then, we’ve been trying to get this offspring into our family for a lot more than a simple nine-months.
2) Maybe the stork, or egret, or heron are really going to be the baby’s delivery method. Maybe the stork is lost while crossing the Atlantic, the egret is still chillin’ in California, and if it is a New Mexican heron, it is definitely on manana time, as are all true New Mexicans.
3) I just recalled how I got eyes in the back of my head when I became a mother. It was those last few weeks of pregnancy. With nothin’ but belly showing, but no real stomach (think envelope) and a bladder under constant attack by rollicking baby, no sleep, the wonder, the worry, I believe those extra set of eyes just naturally popped out of the back of my head. You know, the pressure and all.
4) My family is running out of good betting material. Everyone has lost–thus far. Well, except the easy one: the child’s sex. Chef daughter, Dakota, was sure we would decorate the nursery in pink. Soon-to-be g-pops, AKA Clif, was willing to bet the world’s best wine on Ocean giving birth to a boy. Dakota is saving her dollars to buy that wine someday.
5) Pops-to-be, Randy, keeps wiggling the womb. It just makes Ocean mad.
6) I thought we’d surely be rushing into the hospital when Ocean opened a beer for g-pops and the beer exploded all over her clothes—making her smell like a total lush. Ixnay on that twist of fate.
7) Forgetta’bout the full moon business. That was last Sunday. This morning, Aug. 1, Ocean threw on a maternity t-shirt that no longer fits. Where once an inny-belly button stood, this morning all I could see was one naked, swollen, and itchy blimp busting out of her clothes.
8) Pre-natal acupuncture is a bomb. Did that yesterday. The acupuncturist said, “It could happen today, tomorrow or next week.” Duh!
We’re going to spend some mother and daughters time tomorrow. I’m okay if it gets interrupted by some certain little guy ready to make his entrance to the world.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Quinlan is here. Moire turns a page.
Quinlan, our little Leo, arrived Thursday, Aug. 9, 2007. This mom was on site, along with Quinlan’s dad, Randy, g-pops Clif, Ocean’s doula, the doctor and assorted nurses and technicians, all celebrating Quinlan’s first breath.
Besides birth’s beauty, it was my daughter who bannered the word beauty throughout her entire labor. Not an easy labor, she found her grace and her dignity and bore her baby boy without any drugs to numb her laboring body. Not a scream left her lips, just the natural and primordial sounds of birthing.
Meanwhile in West Hollywood, Dakota was beside herself in worry about her sister and her future nephew. She rang our assorted cell phones about every 20 minutes. Sometimes we could pick up and sometimes we were in the throws of labor.
Around noon, LA Times food critic, S. Irene Virbila, appeared for lunch on The Terrace at Sunset Tower Hotel. LA Times photographers also arrived to shoot some of Dakota’s dishes for an August 15th review. Clif called Dakota to give her an update. She was in her own kind of labor pains!
Sidebar: A long time ago I carpeted my entire home in pale peach carpeting. Ocean and Dakota were still youngsters. Clif and I were getting to know each other. I made a blackberry pie. Toting the hot pie across the newly carpeted family room I tripped. In slow motion I could see that pie start to fly out of my hands. I screamed, “The pie! The carpet! The pie! The carpet!” End of sidebar.
Now Dakota is mentally screaming, “The review! The baby! The review! The baby!”
Concurrently, Ocean’s labor was powerful now and her doula and I breathed in with our mom-to-be, exhaled, breathed in, exhaled, panted, panted, and panted. Rest. Visualize. Focus. Breathe in. Exhale. I hope I’ve painted the picture.
At 4 p.m. Quinlan took his first view of the world outside of his mother’s womb. In California, lunch was over at The Terrace.
Life changed at that moment. I became a moiré (Celtic for grandmother), Clif was now a real g-pops, Dakota an auntie, and of course the new parents, Ocean and Randy.
With this alteration, I turn the page to a new focus on life. Please visit Sixohdear.blogspot.com.
The Muse Pallet 